30 Minutes

 

It's those last 30 minutes

when she comes home too tired

to even climb the stair to bed

yet she's there on the other line

sleepy and passing out

She doesn't have too much to say

just listens to me ramble about my day

And she just stays

Through every little smiley with the "Z"s

and yawn occasionally

she gives me 30 minutes

Then she'll go crash

I'll feel a little sad

and write her a poem

tell her I'm not mad

cause that's what I do

to pretend that I'm cool

I just want to write forever

about this amazing thing we share

I don't believe it's

just something in the air

Reviews

[Frank F. Atanacio]

bitter-sweet with a hint of haunt, but very well written with a nice flow, I enjoyed this poem and it worked out just right :)